


Sleep Deprived

by 9eleanorsometimeswrites9



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/M, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9eleanorsometimeswrites9/pseuds/9eleanorsometimeswrites9
Summary: Grant is released from captivity. He finds himself completely sleep deprived with the only person he's ever loved (who is drunk and angry at him).





	Sleep Deprived

**Author's Note:**

> So I am a bit of a night owl and I promised myself I wouldn't write this story unless it was at least one am. Then I would edit it during the day. I actually worked really hard on this and I hope you enjoy.

It was almost three am.

In the past two days, Grant had been able to sleep for six hours, the most being three hours at a time. His psychiatrist started him on some new meds and warned him that they might make him sleepier than normal. Terrified of having his job performance affected by his mental health, he overcompensated by drinking an almost dangerous amount of caffeine. Admittedly, it was an overreaction. But it, combined with the anxiety of being back with SHIELD, kept him awake for almost two days.

His body hurt and he wished he could go to sleep. Ward’s brain wasn’t even working, it was fixating on the popcorn-ceiling in his assigned bunk. He was lying on his cot, listening to an old playlist he made before— well before everything. It played soft acoustic because he thought his cover was the kind of person that would like soft acoustic but he just ended up liking it due to repetition.

It was weird, being back. He received all of his old— Agent Ward’s old— clothes and other possessions. Face cleaned shaved and white t-shirt acquired, everything felt peaceful, like it was the same. But it was peaceful in the way water was. You just had to poke at it to disrupt the illusion.

He looked like Agent Grant Ward, he used Agent Ward’s phone and laptop, but the people that he thought could’ve been his family weren’t speaking to him. And they never would again.

(Wow, his brain wouldn’t shut up.)

Grant tried other things to distract from the reminders of his reality. He could deal with all of that— _extensively_ — at a decent hour. So he paced for ten minutes (didn’t help), did some sit ups (didn’t help), and read the news (how was that even supposed to help?). He even considered masturbating just to feel _something_ but then realized he was probably being monitored and that would be a bad experience for everyone involved. There was a definite chance of hidden cameras and a microphone.

Solitaire made him feel lonely, he was unfamiliar with the current tv shows, and he didn’t dare touch any book Garret had bought him.

So he ventured outside of his room, despite not being a hundred percent sure that he was allowed to. Honestly, he had no clue what he was in search for until he ended up finding the fully stocked bar (Ah, alcohol. The one thing that will never change.).

Although Agent Grant Ward preferred Scotch, Grant preferred… he wasn’t sure. The last time he was Just-Grant, he was like fifteen and there was no way his teenage self had any refined alcohol taste. Surveying his options, he concluded the aesthetic wasn’t right for Armagnac or Brandy. He checked a dark bottle of Liqueur which was usually a gamble but it had an alcohol percentage of 55%. _Nice._

He poured himself a glass of Liqueur and immediately choked.

“Fuck!”

So that’s what happens when you haven’t had alcohol for over a year. At least he’d end up getting drunk faster if his tolerance decreased. Maybe he could force himself to pass out. You know, safely... kinda. _Well, it’s not like anyone cares._

There was a sound that made him sit up straight. No matter how little his brain seemed to be working, his body was always prepared for an attack. Regardless of what it actually was, it reminded him of how stupid he was acting. He got to go for a walk, he got a tiny sip of alcohol, but he’s been up for over thirty six hours. It was time to force himself to go to bed.

“Can’t sleep?”

Grant didn’t startle, although he wanted to. Skye was here, the one person he ~~does~~ doesn’t want to see. She sounded different though, less cutting and more exhausted.

Realizing he still hasn’t acknowledged her in any way, he finally squared his shoulders, set the glass down and faced her. This was going to be the first time he’s seen her outside of his cell. He _wasn’t_ going to look at her like she was his savior. He was over her. This was a new era.

“Hi, Skye.”

She was wearing a tank top and gray sweatpants and looked _absolutely beautiful._ He couldn’t help but ask,

“Are you okay?”

So much for a new era. New was overrated, anyways. She gave him a weird look like he shouldn’t have spoken in the first place. Like he shouldn’t be here. She was probably right.

“Uh, yeah, I came to return this.” Her voice was gruff and almost half her usual level of snark, like she was making an effort to be blunt.

He finally noticed the empty wine bottle in her hand. Grant wondered how full it was when she began drinking it but didn’t comment.

“I wasn’t aware you were allowed in the common area.” It wasn’t a biting remark, she still only succeeded in sounding tired.

“Still not sure if I am,” He admitted, “But I mean, second week back, nobody has really corrected me.”

Something he said caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“You aren’t, ‘back,’ Ward. You can wear your old clothes and drink at our bar but you will never be—,” Skye stopped herself, realizing she was slurring her words a bit, “You aren’t back.”

It wasn’t fair for her to make that argument, Grant wanted to point out. But his mouth didn’t feel like opening for him. He was too tired to tell her that these were simply the clothes he was given, nothing more. He really only came to the common room when he was sure nobody else was there. 

There was no point in trying to convince her of anything. So he just shrugged, grabbed the glass he almost burnt his tongue on, and headed for the couch. Remembering that Coulson might’ve had rules against stains and spilt drinks, he rested his back against the couch and sat down on the floor.

\- 

Skye was miffed. 

The idea that Grant Ward was sleeping in the same building, _not locked away,_ didn’t help the current nightmares that plagued her sleep. She hasn’t caught a wink all night and according to the clock in the lounge it was almost four. Not even wine put her to sleep, and she drank a lot of it. Currently, her brain was taking that wine as an excuse to tell herself she was excited to see Grant again. Which wasn’t true, not one bit.

What _was_ true was that he had no right to walk away from her! 

“So, what,” She didn’t know why she wanted to pick a fight, “That’s it?” 

Grant gave her this look. It conveyed how tired she felt at the moment and eventually nodded. She practically stomped over to him.

“Wow, I finally gave you a chance to explain yourself and you don’t even take it.” She knew she just wanted to argue, but she still wanted him to take the bait.

It wasn’t fun if he didn’t take the bait. 

Grant snorted.

“That was a chance to defend myself, not explain myself. And I know what you’re doing.” He fixed her with this look that she _loathed._

He looked so much like her old SO. Cocky, absolutely patronizing, wearing a white t-shirt that was doing things to her— No. No, that wasn’t true. That was the wine. Just because Coulson has forgiven him, doesn’t mean she does. She doesn’t miss him and it’s important he (she) remembers that. So she proves it to him.

“That’s the same thing, in my opinion. You have no right to act like you don’t have sins to atone for. You have no right to be here and you _certainly_ don’t have the right to be walking away from me.”

He didn’t emote in any way so she kept going.

“You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t even be breathing. You are a traitor and I will never, ever, _ever_ understand or forgive you!”

Grant took a sip of his drink, swallowed it, and said in the most infuriatingly patient tone,

“I’m not asking you to.”

That got her to laugh, even though she didn’t mean it. She didn’t know why she was putting up such a fight, she was so tired, but she knew she had to throw _something_ in his face. It wasn’t fair, bad people should be punished. 

“You should be begging me to.” Skye fixed him with a glare that conveyed the pain and anger she felt

Harsh laughter from Grant, this time. Nothing to see here, just two enemies faking laughter so the other person thinks they’re unbothered.

She was still angry, mainly at herself. Her brain was rewinding all the ways in which his lips could press against hers. Skye tried to convince herself that she was more upset at him so she got in his face.

Grant was so pretty— No. No, he wasn’t. He should hurt to look at. He was pathetic.

She suddenly realized the button to push to get him react. Chance was, whatever she was feeling, he was feeling it times ten.

“You know,” She rested her hand on his cheek and felt his jaw clench, “No matter how much you sit and take it, you’ll never get what you want.”

Skye could feel the vibrations of his heart beat with her powers. What felt previously dormant suddenly became focused and very awake. She was aware that the last time she touched him as gentle as this was in providence. The last time Grant had probably touched _anyone_ had to have been over a year ago. She shifted her wrist and caught him leaning into her hand.

_Gotcha._

She busted out laughing at his expense.

\- 

He would feel anger towards her if he had the ability to focus on anything other than the fact that she was _touching_ him. She was drunk. He hasn’t slept decently in over two days. Both of their inhibitions were incredibly lowered. He could only look at her in the way his body has been urging him to since he first heard her voice.

\- 

Skye paused. He was doing that again— looking at her like she was his light in the darkness, despite how awful she was treating him. She pulled away, noticing him sigh slowly through his nose. This was suddenly not funny at all.

Her brain really wanted to touch him, it was so foreign yet so familiar and _why_ can’t she shut her brain down, again? Her body moved again, not really with her consent, and she found herself with her hands on his shoulders.

“I’m really, really angry at you, Grant.” 

But they both knew the words were a reminder for her, not him. 

\- 

He couldn’t do anything. He knew he couldn’t touch her back and if he looked away from her, he would portray how uncomfortable he truly felt. All he was able to do was set his glass down and keep his hands in his lap.

Grant opened his mouth and shut it repeatedly before sighing. He shrugged her off, and she recoiled as if what she was doing sunk in.

“What do you want?” He rasped out, the mental exhaustion of two days hitting him.

“What do _you_ want?” She stood up.

What did he want? A second chance, for one thing. But not from her, from SHIELD. Being around her confused him, it always had. 

“Not this, Skye.” 

When she left, he vainly wished she was still listening.

“You’re not the only one in pain.”

\- 

“You’re not the only one in love.” She replied through the door.

But the man was gone.


End file.
